


Call Me (Maybe)

by agirlnamedfia



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-23
Updated: 2015-06-23
Packaged: 2018-04-05 09:17:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4174404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agirlnamedfia/pseuds/agirlnamedfia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two times Sid called Geno and two times Geno called Sid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Call Me (Maybe)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Northisnotup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Northisnotup/gifts).



> Rambles_Dearie, I hope you like your gift! :) You said you love tropes and meet-cutes and non-hockey AUs, so here is a helping of all of those, with an established relationship thrown in for good measure. No porn, though. Sorry!
> 
> Looked over by Anna, for which I am v. v. grateful. Ty babe! Apologies for any mistakes left, they are entirely my fault.

1.

Sid likes to pride himself on having seen a lot of places. He travelled around a big part of Canada during his gap year and when he decided to move to the U.S. after college he had a hard time putting roots in at least half a dozen places before he finally settled in Pittsburgh.

The drunk tank at the zone 2 police station, however, is not a place he ever envisioned himself spending the night.

“This is your fault,” he hisses at Flower, who is lolling on the uncomfortable wooden bench next to him. Flower, for his part, lets out a rumbly snore and slumps down even further. He’s going to have the mother of all cricks in his neck when he wakes up and Sid will not do a thing to stop it.

Thankfully there’s nobody in here with them. Yet. Sid’s seen enough movies and TV-shows to be worried, but for now there’s nobody in this area but them and the cop that’s in charge of booking. 

The very tall, weirdly handsome cop in charge of booking. Plus, Sid’s always been a sucker for an accent.

“We don’t usually do this, you know.”

The cop is grinning when he looks up from his paperwork. “Yeah? Hear that a lot.”

Sid shakes his head, sighing when it makes Flower mumble and sink down even more. He moves away quickly, before he gets stuck with Flower’s head on his shoulder.

“No, it’s like. My friend,” he jerks his head in Flower’s direction, “he’s not good at losing.”

“Yes,” the cop replies. “Have heard about casino. Also not good at listening to police, hmm?”

In Flower’s defence, the cop that had picked them up had been kind of tetchy. And annoying. And he’d seemed vaguely amused by everything, all of which had riled Flower right into shouting French obscenities while being hauled away into a cruiser, pulling Sid along for the ride, handcuffs and everything.

“On second thought, you’re right,” Sid says. “I need better friends.”

The cop laughs. “Maybe not so bad. He refuse to, how he say... ‘give you up’?”

“That doesn’t count for much, considering I didn’t do anything.” 

“Well, thought that counts, no?” The cop’s eyes are wrinkled in the corner with laughter.

“Do you always do this?” Sid asks suspiciously.

“Do what?”

Sid huffs. “Laugh at the people you’re supposed to be protecting.”

“People in here usually drunk,” he shrugs. “Not very entertaining, mostly annoying.” He smiles. “I’m not usually have someone to talk to, is nice.”

“Yeah, well,” Sid grumps. “I’m glad you’re entertained, because I’m bored out of my mind.” He yelps when a deck of cards clatters to the ground in front of him. An innocent whistle goes up from the desk. “Very funny!”

He takes the cards, though, and when Vero comes in an hour and a half later, he’s still playing Solitaire and decidedly losing, thanks to the cop’s incredibly unhelpful backseat playing.

“Thanks for nothing,” Sid says, elbowing Flower as the door rattles open and they’re being trooped upstairs.

“Please,” Flower says serenely. “I was being kind and not interrupting your pathetic attempts at flirting. You should be grateful.”

Sid flushes when the cop winks at him on the way out, and firmly avoids Flower’s eye. It works, more or less, at least until they’re all strapped into the car.

“So, Sid,” Vero says innocently. “Want to tell me why the nice officer wanted to make absolutely sure you got this?” She sets a deck of cards down on the center console.

A phone number is scrawled on top, right next to “in case of look for better friends)))”

Vero grins, Flower cackles and Sid glares at the both of them until they’re pulling out of the parking lot. He makes sure to tuck the deck of cards in his coat pocket, though.

2.

The best thing, in Geno’s opinion, about working Saturday nights is also the worst thing about working Saturday nights. It gets so _busy_ is the thing, and yeah, sure, that makes the evening go by way faster, but there are only so many rousing (and drunk) renditions of “Happy Birthday” Geno can take before his brain dribbles out of his ears.

“You okay?” Sid says as he’s squeezing behind Geno’s tiny bar to duck into the dessert fridge.

“Yes, fine,” Geno says absently. He’s fixing up Tanger’s drink order and table six just got their birthday cake--and they’re playing it fast and loose with the sparklers. The last thing anybody needs is a repeat of last year’s Burning Birthday Baked Goods incident, so Geno’s keeping an eye out.

“I keep telling Mario to stop scheduling multiple groups in one night,” Sid grouses as he comes up with a couple of brownies and an industrial grade bottle of whipped cream. “But he never listens.”

“Usually listens,” Geno counters. “But was late booking, friend of a friend, you know.” Mario really does try to keep the groups to a minimum per night, but, well, this is a restaurant and they do take group bookings. Geno gets it. Sort of.

“Shut up,” Sid says, but he’s smiling slightly. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“Always on your side, Sid,” Geno croons. Sid’s full-on grinning now, chuckling slightly while deftly putting together his dessert.

“Hey, you want to go out when we’re done here? Get something to eat? I feel like pizza.”

Geno slides the last glass onto a tray and signals Tanger for pick-up, snagging up a tea towel to wipe the bar down. “Like date?” he teases.

Sid rolls his eyes. “We haven’t had the chance to do a proper date in weeks, post-shift pizza does _not_ count.” 

“Such perfectionist, Sid. Am happy just to spend time with you!”

Sid’s gone a bit pinkish in the face. He tucks the whipped cream back into the fridge and picks up the plate. “Yes, okay, but seriously. Pizza?”

“Not sure,” Geno says pensively. “Might be busy. Might get better offer.” Sid makes an indignant noise, and Geno can barely keep his face straight when he continues. “I call you?”

“Call me?” Sid splutters, “just before you said you were happy to--”

Geno’s just about to drop a kiss on Sid’s hilariously offended expression when there’s a commotion and the dulcet sounds of someone shouting “oh shit, our table’s on fire!”.

Geno resists the urge to thunk his head on the bar. 

“Saturdays,” Sid says sympathetically, and wades into the fray.

 

3.

Geno’s just about to close down for the day when a guy rocks up to his truck, red faced and slightly out of breath.

“I need to--,” he pauses, braces himself, “--get laid.”

There’s a cackle of laughter from further away, a group of people peeking around the corner of the office building that’s adjacent to the the lot where Geno likes to park.

Geno blinks. “This is food truck.”

The guy nods. “Yes, I know.” 

“Not serve sex,” Geno says slowly. “Only food.”

“Yes, I kno--Oh fuck it, this is ridiculous.” He slumps forward, resting his head on Geno’s just-wiped, just-disinfected counter.

Despite himself, Geno is curious. “Why you need to get laid?”

The guy groans something too unintelligible to understand, then lifts his head when Geno pokes him.

“I don’t,” he says miserably. “I just need to say it.”

Geno looks from the guy to the group and connects one and two to make--”This is dare?”

The guy nods. It’d be sad, but he’s kind of cute, with hair that’s slightly curled, a nice jawline and (most importantly) very impressive shoulders. If Geno’s reading this right, this guy is built. Not to mention that mouth. Pouting is a good look on him.

Geno grins. “You ask strangers to get laid?”

“More or less.”

“Hmm. And how that usually end for you?”

The guy sighs. “Not well. Weird looks are a best case scenario, to be honest.”

“Don’t know,” Geno leers. “Think you could do better.”

The guy giggles. “Anyway, sorry,” he says, gesturing feebly. “I’m not supposed to admit it’s a dare, so I guess I failed this round.”

“Why they make you do this?” Geno asks curiously. “You lose bet?”

The guy shrugs. “Something like that. It’s a long story.”

Geno jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “Have leftovers in fridge. Can drive away from friends. Want to hide out for a while?” 

The guy sighs. “I fucking wish. I could do with a break, to be honest.”

Geno casts a critical eye on the group of people, still hanging back. Most of them have lost interest by now, though there’s a couple guys definitely still eyeing him.

“Sid,” one of the girls shouts, “come on, we’re going to Chartreuse!” There’s a whoop from three quarters of the group, but the guy at Geno’s truck--Sid, apparently--sighs again.

“Chartreuse?” Geno asks.

“Yeah,” Sid says despondently. “It’s a strip club.”

“Yes, I know,” Geno answers thoughtfully. “Has happy hour on now, yes?”

“Oh God, really? This evening just got so much worse.”

Geno grins. “No,” he says, “this good. Your friends, they already drunk, right?”

Sid throws a look over his shoulder, follows Geno’s gaze. Some of the girls are having a tug-of-war with a feather boa and it looks like at least three of the guys are unconcernedly swapping clothes in the middle of the street. “Yeah,” he says. “They really are.”

“So half an hour in Chartreuse,” Geno says slyly, “you come find me. They not even notice you gone.”

“Oh!” Sid looks at him, eyes a little wide. There’s a flush on his cheeks that’s way more attractive than it should be. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” Geno says, sliding his card over the counter. “You call, I’m come get you, we eat leftovers.” He smirks. “Who know, maybe you even get laid.”

Sid is full-on blushing now, but he quickly snatches away the card. “Half an hour. Forty-five minutes tops.” He pauses. “I’ll call you.”

“Look forward to it,” Geno says. He covertly eyes Sid’s ass as he wipes down the counter again.

Best. Closing. Ever.

 

4.

The shop, when Geno arrives at it, is dark and quiet and obviously closed, which is enough to make Geno curse violently under his breath. He'd been on his way home when his boss had called and cited important client and unexpected misfortune and extreme urgency. Geno hadn't known how to weasel out of the job so now here he is: grumpy and annoyed and ready to repair what is apparently a major freezer-related emergency at a closed shop front. 

Light flicks on when he knocks, though, and the guy who opens the door looks so pathetically grateful to see him that Geno can feel his annoyance melt away. 

"Hello," he says carefully. "Here for broken freezer?"

The guy nods. "Yes, oh my God, thanks so much for still coming, you're a lifesaver."

Privately Geno wonders what could possibly be so lifesaving about a broken freezer but then again, who is he to protest? Customer is always right, as Sasha likes to say. 

"Is no problem," he answers, following the guy inside what looks like a high-end bakery. Oh. That would explain the urgency. "You know what is problem?" 

"Not a clue," the guy answers. "I'm hopeless with this kind of thing. I didn't even realise it wasn't working until I came downstairs an hour ago and found Mrs. Niedermayer's birthday cake dripping on the floor."

He sounds dismayed and it prompts a snort from Geno. "Cake melt from broken freezer? Thought cakes go in fridge."

"It was an ice cream cake," the guy answers distractedly. "Here, it's this one." He gestures to a freezer, stained blue and red and smelling overwhelmingly like vanilla. Geno eyes the floor and silently sacrifices yet another pair of pants to his job, because the odds of getting those stains out are slim to none. 

He crouches down, setting his toolbox within easy reach. "Okay, I look."

The guy hesitates. "Is it okay if I, uh, stick around?" 

Geno shrugs, already inspecting the inside of the freezer. It’s not that weird a request, people tend to want to keep an eye out, and as long as the guy’s not in the way, it doesn’t matter. The freezer is an even bigger mess of stains and smells inside. He idly wonders what kind of weird cake was in here. "Fine. Be working on freezer anyway, sir."

The guy leans back against the work counter. "Sidney," he offers awkwardly. "That's--that's my name."

Oh. Maybe he didn’t want to stick around to keep an eye out, then. Geno suppresses a smile. It's not the first time his customers have flirted with him. It's the first time he's considered reciprocating, though. Sidney is pretty cute.

"Evgeni," he offers, dropping down on the floor and nudging the freezer gently. "Call me Geno."

Sidney hums. "Thanks again for showing up so late. I know it's probably an imposition."

"Is fine," Geno says dismissively. "Who else save cakes from melty disaster?"

Sidney makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a giggle. "Well, I appreciate it."

Geno fishes a flashlight out of his box. The cables behind the freezer are a huge, tangled mess and the amount of dust that everything's covered with makes Geno wonder if anyone ever cleans behind this thing. "So, you baker? Own bakery?"

"Yeah," Sidney replies. "I do special cake orders mostly, but we have a little shop too."

Geno hums. "You any good?"

"I--yeah. Maybe, I mean. We’re pretty busy so."

He trails off and Geno peeks out from behind the freezer to shoot him an amused look. "Don't sound very sure."

Sidney screws up his face. "Yes," he says determinedly. "I'm very good."

"Now sound like big head," Geno says, tongue in cheek. Sidney is surprisingly easy, and fun, to rile up. 

"Oh shut up," Sidney mumbles, going slightly red in the face. "You're the one who asked!"

"True," Geno answers solemnly. He ducks back down. It doesn't look like anything is wrong in the back, dust and tangles aside. But there's a small compartment in the bottom of the freezer he could check. The only problem is, it's only accessible when the freezer is lifted. 

Get gets up, tries to wipes some dust off. "Okay, problem is not with cables in back," he explains. "One more place it could be but for checking, need freezer up in the air. You have something for, uh, how you say--," he makes a gesture and Sidney's confused expression clears. 

"Oh, you mean leverage? No, I don't think so," he says, looking around cursorily. "But I can probably lift it.”

Geno gives him a skeptical look and Sidney rolls his eyes. "It's empty, it's hardly going to weigh a ton."

Sidney’s not a small guy, that much Geno can tell even through the loose layers of sweatpants and a comfortable looking oversized hoodie, but bakers generally aren't known for their physical prowess and he doesn't really want to die because someone dropped a freezer onto his face. 

He's about to suggest they find an alternative when Sidney zips his hoodie open, revealing a form fitting top. It leaves little to the imagination. When the hoodie comes off entirely and Sidney's truly awe-inspiring biceps are revealed, Geno has to resist the urge to fan himself, because _damn_. 

"You don’t look like baker," he finds himself saying. Shit. 

Sidney flushes again. "I work out," he says defensively. "And I bake to order, jeez, I don’t eat the cakes."

"Not even scraps?" Geno says slyly, and laughs when Sidney avoids his eyes. 

"Okay, how do you want to do this?"

"You lift this side," Geno gestures, "I crawl under. There is box there I need to check. You warn me if it gets too hard," he adds firmly. "Freezer on face, not fun."

Sidney rolls his eyes as he grabs the edge and lifts it up easily. "Go on then," he says, snapping Geno out from when he'd been staring at the flexing of Sidney's muscles for longer than was probably acceptable. "Check your stuff. I’ll be fine.”

Geno blinks and then quickly crawls under the freezer before he can embarrass himself even further. This situation has definitely gotten away from him, when did that happen?

“I play hockey too,” Sidney mentions casually, and Geno almost brains himself on the freezer. Hot baker with muscles Geno would like to get more acquainted with who _plays hockey_? If Sasha hadn’t sounded genuinely stressed on the phone, Geno would have thought this was another one of his plots.

“Yeah?” he says casually, when he’s recovered. “Who you play for? Flyers?”

Sidney makes a noise that is half disgust and half horror. “I play in a rec league, obviously. And we may live in Philadelphia,” he says primly, “but that doesn’t mean we have to be Flyers fans.” 

Geno makes a noncommittal noise, trying to hide his amusement. “I’m always like Penguins,” he offers.

“Yeah,” Sidney says, suddenly sounding a little dreamy. “Mario Lemieux is something else, isn’t he?”

“He no Kharlamov,” Geno says, “but he okay.”

Sidney makes an offended noise, but doesn’t reply. A few moments later, Geno makes a triumphant noise. “Found problem!” He crawls out from under the freezer. “Is okay, you can put down.”

He tries not to stare too obviously as Sidney sets the freezer down easily. “Well?”

Geno dusts off his hands. “Good news, bad news,” he says. “Cable in box is loose, so bad connection, freezer not work anymore. Good news is, is easy fix.”

Sidney nods. “And the bad news?”

“I’m not have replacement with me,” Geno says apologetically. “Can’t fix till tomorrow.”

Sidney sighs. “I guess that’s not the worst case scenario. The bakery’s closed tomorrow, though, so I’ll need to come in. Any idea when you’ll be here?”

Geno shrugs apologetically. “Depends,” he says, “Don’t know what roster is for tomorrow yet. Also cable maybe in other warehouse.”

Sidney coughs. “I could, uh. I could give you my number? Then you can call me when you need me?” Geno blinks and Sidney’s eyes widen. “To come in!” he yelps quickly. “When you need me to come in. Is what I meant.”

He looks flustered and embarrassed and is looking pretty much anywhere but at Geno. It’s undeniably charming.

“Okay,” he says easily. “You give me number, I call.” He smirks. “When I need you.”

Sidney pinks up even more, but doesn’t say anything, just fishes a business card out of his wallet and shoves it into Geno’s hands with a small smile. “Here.”

Geno tucks it away carefully as they both head for the door. “So I see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah. Yes,” Sidney says. “You’ll call.”

“Yes,” Geno says, grinning. “I call.” He pauses at the door. “Tomorrow. For cable?”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Geno’s almost out the door when Sidney clears his throat. “And maybe. Um. For other things too.”

He turns around slowly. “Yes?”

Sidney shrugs, smiling crookedly. “Yeah.”

Geno beams at him. “Okay.”

“Okay.

Two minutes later, he calls Sidney from the truck. It does not have anything to do with cables.


End file.
